Of Great Revenue: the 2nd Twilight Tommy Tale
by GitariArt
Summary: Twilight Tommy has barely started to adjust to his spirit-touched reality, when he and his roommates have to deal with the Salamander Court and the Child's Rite. It makes for another very long day in Tommy's newlife. All the while Tommy tries to contend with what his allies have done, what they are doing, and what the conclusions might mean for who he is.


**[** Warning/Apology: Due to my vision disability and the limits of spell-checking software, this story probably contains grammatical problems. I have combed through every chapter over a half dozen times. I am also seeking beta readers. I apologize for any inconvenience and will gladly correct any misspellings or grammar fails that are brought to my attention.

Acknowledgement: the Straight Lane Group, for sitting there.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons or characters, living, dead, or fictional, or to actual places or events, is /

Gratitude: Extra-special thanks goes to Rachel, my endlessly loving and encouraging wife.]

 **Of Great Revenue**

A Twilight Tommy Tales

A Note:

The following story takes place on Friday, November 25th, 2016, a suitably foreboding day, in your humble author's opinion. This was the day after the secular United States holiday of Thanksgiving, colloquially referred to as Black Friday. Historically "Black" referred to a positive fiscal accounting term. In almost all other metaphoric senses, "Black" is less than desirable. Both implications are very fitting to your author's experiences of this particular Black Friday.

 **I**

I awoke to a pounding on the front door. It was still dark out and it took a second to sort out why my bed was bouncy and the room felt oddly echoey and lifeless. The answers came to mind between thumps on the house's door. I was on my air mattress, not the comfy down of the bed back at our oak-haven, which meant that I was in our rental house in Athens. We still had not spent the time or money to furnish the place, hence the echo. It seemed lifeless to me because our oaken tree-house—to which I had become quickly accustomed—was in fact a living, dryad possessed, tree. Plus, the only other member of my group in the rental ranch style with me right then was Raion-ju, assuming that he had not crept off, in the night.

Stumble-shuffling from my room, I cracked open the door to one of the other two bedrooms, the one in which Rai had been. The person at the front door knocked again. Rai was a big black man, easily six-foot-six and built like a linebacker. Fully clothed, Rai lay curled with his back in the far corner, he wore jeans, a black t-shirt, and grey socks, his steel-toed biker-boots were in easy reach. It was the only outfit that I had seen the lad wear in the weeks since he had bought them at Wal-Mart, though he did often also carry a backpack which might contain identical additional attire. In spite of the clothing, Rai looked more like a sleeping panther than a huddled man. An impression exacerbated, because Raion-ju's True Fae Keeper had reshaped him into spirit-toughed with triangular cat-ears, iridescent mint-green slit-pupilled eyes, fangs, and claws.

The constantly curios parts of my jumbled mind mused on the words which I had so recently added to my every-day vocabulary, True Fae, Keeper, spirit-touched. There were many synonyms for both the impossible-glorious, infinite-terrible Bright One Masters, as well as their enslaved—once upon a time, human—changelings. The various titles rolled around the back of my head, free associating, although all my groggy fore-brain could process was how hard it was to imagine what it was like, less than three weeks ago, when I had considered such things to be make-believe.

Raion-ju did not wake up at my intrusion, or his eyes did not open and his breathing remained deep and steady. On the other hand, the articulated pointy ears pivoted to point at me and Rai's nostrils flared. I considered that I could get a brisk wake-up jolt of wintery chill, merely by entering within arms reach of Rai's phlegmatic faery aura. Then I realized that I was smarter than to enter the den of a panther-man, when he might wake started, or merely choose to teach me a lesson about privacy. I closed the door, as quietly as I could.

At our ranch-style house's banging front-door, I ran my perpetually tan hand through my light brown and blond-streaked, mop of wavy hair, exposing the tips of my equally tan pointed-ears. Then, I opened the door and found myself greeting two uniformed police officers and a gust of thirty-something degree late-November morning air. The chill gave my the jump-start which I had predicted and I flashed on how stupid I had just been. I had just opened the door to an unidentified knocker, like Sean Tallwind had done and the redcaps had snatched him, beat him, and trussed him up.

My… well, gang is really only accurate description, had slaughtered seven out of eight of the redcap gang which had been menacing us, just the night before. I honestly had no reason to believe that the lone surviving 'cap would not show up to exact vengeance, or that there were not more of them.

As the icy pre-dawn air cut through the entrance, one of the errant parts of me wondered if my commune should get a screen-door, then started arguing with another part of me which though that furniture was far more important. Meanwhile, breaths puffed out visibly, between me and the cops. The dark haired man stood full in the weak porch light, his light haired partner was back a bit but still well illuminated.

My second thought, as I blinked sleepily at the officers, was "Act dumb, Tummy. Nothing good ever came from being clever around authority."

"Uh, hi, um, officers," I said slowly, leaning forward a little, using the inward opened door to prop myself up and looked around the neighborhood. I discarded the impulse to make a 'was I sleeping too fast' joke and went with, "can I help you, uh, officers?"

The closer dark-haired cop, the one that had been pounding on the door, made introductions, "Good morning sir, I am Officer Green and this," a nod to the other man, without taking eyes off of me, "is Officer Ericson."

Both men were white and a bit over six-feet tall with pale eyes and clean shaven faces. Brush-cut blond Ericson stood with his hands on his hips. Green was older by five or six years, maybe in his early thirties, he took out a notepad and pencil. Both men wore standard dark navy-blue uniforms, including thickly insulated bomber jacket, guns holstered to their right hips, and the typical flat short brimmed hats that would conceal a bold spot, but left the rest of the head exposed. I also noted that their patrol car was parked in our driveway.

Officer Green then asked if I was Fetch-Tom. In fact, Green used my full and True Name, the one which my mother put on my birth certificate. True Names can be used against… well, everyone, however spirit-touched were particularly susceptible. Thus, dear reader, I shall omit instances of my True Name. "Fetch-Tom" will suffice as an identifier for differentiating the doppelganger which was masquerading as the mortal me at the time.

"Huh?" I said, hoping my face did not betray the furious speed of my thoughts. "No, du… I mean, no sir. My name's Tom, but I'm Tom White."

Green and Ericson exchanged skeptical glances. Green looked back to me, "You are not Fetch-Tom?"

"Nope, sorry" I shook my head, still pretending to use the door for support. I widened my eyes a bit and asked in a conspiratorial tone, "What'd this other Tom guy do?"

Both men ignored my question. Green asked a new question, "Do you own a 2002 black Ford Festiva?"

I blinked, "No, sir, I don't own a car at all." I lied, knowing full well that my 2002 black Festiva was locked in the garage, just a few yards away. I also knew that the vehicle had been purchased in my True Name. So, I only hoped that the cops had not been able to see clearly through the tiny windows, high up the garage wall, because if I were them I would have checked that, before banging on the front door.

"Where were you last night between ten-PM and midnight?" Green's green eyes maintained a flatness which he must have practiced in a mirror.

"Uh," I tried to act like I was thinking about it, I exhaled long and slow, "That must have been after dinner, right? So, mostly just driving around."

"You just said you don't have a car." Green verbally jumped at my apparent slip and pointed a pencil at me. "Can we have a look in your garage?"

 _Dammit,_ I attempted to hide my panic by rubbing the sleep from my face. I really wanted to nip that sort of questioning in the bud. After the garage, Green was sure to ask to come into the house, then about the lack of furniture, then for my ID. I thought my fake "Thomas White" drivers license was good, I just did not want to test it against police scrutiny. So, I tapped into that extra-dimensional bladder-like sensation I had behind my eyes and chest, drawing enough wyrd to cast a few glamours. For Green and Erikson I dolled out a Fickle Fortune to hinder their chances of success, I hoped it would make them forget to ask certain questions. On me, I cast Fairest Tongue and Fortune's Favor, enhancing my own luck as well as my overall charm and believability. Thus, words started to slide from my mouth, without me fully directing the thoughts behind them. "There's nothing in the garage and my roommate's got the key. Besides, I didn't say that I was the driver, me and Jessie and Gary where in Mark's car." Names and faces from Fetch-Tom's list of FaceBook friends popped into my head. "Mark's the dude that was driving; he's probably the guy you want to be talking to." I stopped myself from sarcastically adding "at ass-crack o'clock in the A of M."

"Hmm." Green jotted a note. "And while your friend Mark was driving you around, did you all stop by O'Malley's bar?"

I screwed up my face in fake thought, "uh, nope, not that I can recall. We mighta drove by at some point, but the name's not familiar, so I don't think I saw a sign for… uh, O'Malley's?"

Officer Green pursed his lips and made another note. Ericson was frowning slightly, but otherwise had not altered his stance. Green asked "And what are the last names of your friends from last night?" I could only thank my magically modified luck, that the names arrived in my head, as my slipshod memory had to pull them from only a couple of viewings, over a week earlier. Then, Green asked, "And why was your group driving around on Thanksgiving?"

"I don't know, that was the one question I had been ready for, it was the reason I had claimed to have been out at all. Back when I was a normal lad, attending the University of Ohio, I had class with several students that were far from relatives or any other options. So, I co-opted what I had overheard back then, "nothing else to do really, I guess. I mean, it's like all our families are in other cities and the rest of our friends with their own families. And on the holiday most places were closed and stuff, so we were mostly just bored, ya know?"

"What sort of car did you say you were in?" Officer Green asked while making yet another note.

"Uh," I rubbed my crystalline amber eye with the knuckles of my right hand, "I don't think I said. Uh, Mark's car is dark grey or black… it's old and kinda scratched up so the color's hard to tell… uh, it's his dad's old car… it's like, whadda-ya-call-it," I flapped my hand uncertainly, "a mid size car."

I was especially proud of my acting as if I did not know car types and models. It was the part of the lie which separated "Tom White" from Fetch-Tom. Plus, it gave me something related to the police visit, to think about. Thus, keeping me present in the moment.

Meanwhile, the perversely distractible parts of my brain reflected on how I looked. In mirrors I saw a tan elf, who should be modeling beachwear. Yet, I knew Officers Green and Erikson, saw the barely altered Masque of my former self—two inches taller at an even six-foot, gangly/lanky frame, darker-brown unkempt hair, normal ears, brown eyes, and looking as if I was in my early thirties, instead of late teens. Only the preternatural tan of Summerfire's Grace seeped through to what mortals saw of me. If these two officers did speak to Fetch-Tom, they would think that we were twins, except for the pale skin and body art which my imposter had featured in his FaceBook pics.

Grace, wyrd, glamour, and Masque, were all more of those new words in my expanding vocabulary. Most of them were related to faery magic, with glamours being the actual spell-like abilities spirit-touch had learned during their time in captivity. The Masque was rare as an ancient glamour-bargain struck, which protected all things fae from the perceptions of un-changed humans. To an extent, at any rate, reflections had special rules, as did things left behind, like footprints. However, such peculiarities had to be expected from the pernicious governing force known as the Gyr—yet another new vocabulary word.

Some terrible, thrill seeking, self punishing, fanciful part of me always flared up when I considered the masque, especially around normal people. I knew that with a little effort of will and a pinch of wyrd, I could drop my Masque and reveal my true fae appearance to the police officers. The looks on their faces would be priceless. Then, the echo of Rosa the Baker's voice found its way through the whirling clutter of my thoughts.

"Never remove the Masque." The tiny-horned tattoo-faced lass had stressed. "It hides you from the Folk, as much as the mortals. Dropping it is as good as ringing a bell and calling the Bright Ones."

So, I understood that my impulse to prank the cops with a Masque drop was like the feeling of driving at eighty miles-per-hour down an expressway and having an urge to veer into the concrete median. Plus, I had researched the phenomena and turned up a few accounts of mortals catching and dissecting the un-Masqued spirit-touched. Though, I was not sure that I believed the Area 51 references.

"Do you know the make or model?" Mr. Green's gruff monotone pulled my wandering thoughts back to my present.

"Uh, not really," my deception grew, "I never really got into cars… it had that, uh like pentagram hood thingy." I held my hand up almost making an okay symbol. "so, that's a Chevy right?"

The semi-formal interrogation went around like that for fifteen minutes or so, lots of repetition trying to catch me out in a lie. Yet, no progression to more specifics or tangential details, either. It helped that I tended to be perceived as innocent, childlike, and gullible—at least on first impressions—Masque or not. Even so, I felt confident that my glamours were working.

My only concerned was that the "whimsical" Gyr would end the magical effect, before the police finally left. Although, I did not really believe the Gyr cared, any more than the ocean or microwaves could care. The Gyr was simply an imperceptible forces which ebbed, flowed, and pooled, according to some as yet unquantifiable set of criteria.

Plus, I was growing more physically uncomfortable in just my red-flannel pajamas and sweat-socks. Not that either policeman showed any signs of sympathy, as I started to shiver and cupping my hands to blow on them. I was sorely tempted to cast another glamour to ward off the chill, however I believed the mundane veracity of my actual discomfort lent credence to my performance.

In return, the cops were not at all forthcoming with any details, even when I asked questions. Though, of course, I did not push. Eventually, both men seemed satisfied that they did not have enough grounds on which to arrest or detain me further. So, Green thanked me for my cooperation, then duo got into their Ford Police Interceptor Sedan (Torus with a Mustang engine) and drove off. I did not linger in the doorway to watch them depart.

By the time I showered and dressed, my jewel-like irises had settled back to my baseline orange-gold from the agitated red of the interrogational. Amongst the many changes I had forced upon me, my beautiful-vile Keeper Aeolian had scrubbed and polished my eyes to clearest crystal. However, through Summerfire's Grace color was mine again. Specifically, the mostly warm colors of amber gemstones, varying with my mood. More upset and my eyes grow redder, shock and the pale to near white, I was even on a date a few days earlier wherein my reflection showed a pleased sunny-yellow.

After dressing, I deflated my air-mattress and worked it into its vinyl sleeve, folded my sheets, stuffed the bedding into a large trash bag, and packed my toiletries into my backpack. All the while, I contemplated my next moves. I collected my few remaining items of value from my Festiva, also into my dark-green Wal-Mart backpack. Luckily the garage was attached to the house, so I entered unseen from possible watching police. I still kept glancing to the small windows, though. I stowed what gear that could not carry n the garage's rafters.

By then I was certain that Raion-ju must have heard the police pounding on our door and he left me to cope all alone. So, I returned the favor and left Rai alone in the house to deal with whatever new might arrive. Although, I did tape a note to engineer's Suzuki motorcycle, reminding him to lock the garage if he left, so as to protect my Festiva as much as possible.

I left through the back-door, hopping through several neighbor's yards, before stepping onto the sidewalk and strolling to the nearest bus stop. All with my pack on my back and a fairly cumbersome trash-bag in my hands. The bag was full of sawed-off redcap baseball-bats and their ZipLocked blood-soaked hats. My primary concern was getting the evidence/trophies out of the mundane world as soon as possible. After that, I would return to the issue of my implicated vehicle. So, I took the first bus that arrived, then worked out what transfers I need to make in order to get as close as possible to Ariadne's Sheaves & Leaves.

[All 15 chapters of the completed story may be viewed at the Archive of Our Own website, by searching my user name "GitariArt".]


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